


The Bus to Nowhere

by KosmicPoptarts



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everyone Needs A Hug, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, How Do I Tag, Just Not Right Now, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sadness, Slow Burn, Swearing, alternate universe - bus to nowhere, based on an urban legend, homework? we don't know her, literally everyone is sad, trigger warning for depression death and feelings of depair, we'll get to john just wait patiently, yes george is dying, yes i will give paul a backstory, yes ringo is chronically depressed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:53:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KosmicPoptarts/pseuds/KosmicPoptarts
Summary: Have you ever felt down on your luck? Have you ever experienced what you thought was the worst day of your life? Have you ever been unsure of how to face a problem that affects your life? If you find yourself wandering the empty streets, unsure of where you ought to go, you may stumble upon a peculiar bus. The displays on the front and back are eerily barren of any location or number. This bus only stops for those with no destination in mind, for those lost in their own thoughts. Passengers are at their lowest, deprived of any hope. You must chase the bus, and the driver will stop and allow you and your despair to ride. Should you pull the cord, you will be let off, and your memories of the ride shall fade. The ride could’ve been mere minutes, hours, or maybe even years.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	1. Denial

Paul watched the minutes tick by on his watch, painfully aware of how long he and others had been on the damned bus. Painfully aware of what everyone was going through. The man two seats diagonal from him, George, if he remembered correctly, had been on this bus for 6 months, 4 days and 10 minutes. The man three rows behind him, Rich, had been on this bus for 1 year, 17 days and 53 minutes. Others had been on almost as long, and even others had only been on for a few minutes. Paul himself had watched so many cope with their grievances and finally wrack up the nerve to pull the faded yellow cord that hung above every window, to disembark and forget all about the bus and find themselves exactly where they were meant to be. These were the lucky ones, Paul thought. Paul himself had been on the longest out of everyone. 5 years, 48 days and 22 minutes. Paul just couldn’t seem to cope with his own grievances, his only source of joy on the eerily silent bus was seeing others finally get off to face the world. Paul couldn’t do that. He had had enough of the world, and he didn’t want to be anywhere. If the world didn’t need him, then Paul didn’t need the world.

Paul knew that once he got off of this bus (if he ever did), he would forget about it. He had seen some faces he recognized as the bus drove around in an endless loop. The faces not sparing a second glance, unaware of the bus they had spent so much time occupying. It was always strange to other passengers that Paul knew exactly how long he and the others had been on the bus, none of which seemed to be able to tell the time of day even in the light of the sun or the gleam of the moon. Paul supposed he didn’t have much else to do. He didn’t want to think about what had happened to himself in the past, knowing those involved have most likely long since moved on. Paul had counted the minutes initially on his hand, before those minutes turned to hours, then those hours turned to days, those days into weeks and so on. 

He had made small talk with George and Rich, each coping in their own ways. George had found out that he had contracted stage four throat cancer, and he felt his doctor wasn’t taking it nearly as seriously as he should have. He had also found out that during his time in the hospital, his girlfriend had been cheating on him with his best friend. George had said that he had felt like he was unloved in his life, and he knew he was going to die forgotten by the world. George had mentioned that his diagnosis of only having 3 months left was long since overdue. George didn’t feel the physical pain from his cancer, merely the overwhelming emotions of betrayal, despair, and fear. Paul didn’t want to push too much, fearing the silence of the bus once more, so he got George talking about his hobbies, his family. He found out that George was rather fond of gardening, and he played sitar and ukelele from time to time. George had a nephew that he treated like his own son, and was very proud of him. Seeing the sad, yet excited smile George had when talking about his plants, the music he liked, or his nephew made Paul smile too, wishing his life had been so peaceful. 

Rich’s story was quite different from George’s. Rich had had a rough life, spending much of his childhood in and out of hospitals. He had joined a band late into his teens. Rich had mentioned that playing in that band was the happiest he had felt. He played with that band for about 3 years before a falling out. The band was at a house party, but it had been busted. The neighbors had called the cops while Rich was out for a smoke. He had heard through his buzzed state and dipped from the party without warning those inside. He remembered calling a cab and passing the oncoming police as he was driven home. The next day, Rich had received a very angry call from the leader of the band telling him that the bassist and rhythm guitarist had been arrested for underage drinking, and the leader had been hit with a nasty fine for encouraging it. Rich was promptly kicked out of the band for dipping on the group, and his life just fell apart from there. His father passed away from tuberculosis shortly after, and Rich couldn’t find a job anywhere, due to his dropping out of high school to join the band. He fell behind on rent and was being evicted from his apartment without any notice. Rich had come home from his job interview to find other tenants picking through his stuff, which had been left on the curb out front. It was about that time that Rich had hopped on the bus, with no destination in mind. 

Paul knew the bus only held the most desperate of people, he himself included. He had tried to brighten the mood for Rich and George. He knew that one day, George would accept his fate and pull the cord to be met with his demise. He knew that one day, Rich would finally be in the right mental state and pull the cord to get his life back together. Paul hoped that he himself would finally cope with his own personal troubles, and pull the taunting yellow cord to finally get off of this place of despair. But as the months turned into years, Paul began to wonder if he ever would be able to cope, or if he was doomed to ride this bus for all eternity. He was sure that that thought didn’t help him in any case, if anything it probably extended his time on the bus even more. But he, just like the others, only really knew of one feeling.

Hopelessness.


	2. The Usual Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new face appears on the bus, and Paul takes a chance to talk with the stranger.

Another day of wallowing creeped it’s way onto the bus. Paul looked at his watch, noting that it was strange that no one had entered or exited the bus yet. It was already 3:00 pm, and usually someone would have by now, but Paul supposed it was just a slow day. They happen from time to time. Paul didn’t know whether to be happy for the people that were living their best lives, no where near their lowest point, or to pity those on the bus, unable to pull the cord. On days like these, Paul would love nothing more than to chat with George and Rich, but George didn’t seem to be in a chatty mood, and Rich was dozing a bit, so Paul didn’t have the heart to disturb him just because he needed some sort of human contact.

Paul had tried to converse with the other passengers, and he always got one of three reactions; sometimes they would flat out say (albeit, not rude in any way) that they just wanted to be alone. Sometimes they would become aggressive. Yes Paul had been hit by those hostile few several times, and he was sure he would’ve had his ass ripped clean off if it wasn’t for the menacing glare of the driver in his rearview. Talking wasn’t prohibited, in fact talking seemed to help the most for some, but hitting someone? That was a huge no-no. The final reaction Paul would get most often was just being ignored, plain and simple. Paul understood, some people just were numb to the world while riding the bus. He had been too, at one point. You could say he still was, in a way.

Paul watched the German streets pass by, counting the light poles, or the pedestrians, or the stop signs. Just something to pass the time while waiting for George to come out of his slump or Rich to wake up, or both. Then suddenly, the bus stopped. Paul looked at what little of the surroundings he could see. It looked like they had been stopped near an alleyway. This was common enough that Paul didn’t think twice about it. Paul looked down the aisle, trying to see what poor soul had found themselves chasing the bus. As the man approached Paul’s section of the bus, he and Paul made eye contact, if only for a split second. Paul flashed him a sad smile, if only out of courtesy. The man’s mouth twitched into a barely noticeable smirk before it was gone again, replaced with a look of tired indifference. 

The man sat in the seat directly in front of Paul, glancing back at him as he did so. Paul took in all of what he could see as the bus began to move again. His hair was styled up, standing firm with gel. He wore a black leather jacket, and Paul noticed a pack of smokes sticking out of his jean pocket. Paul made a mental note to ask the man if he could move them to a different pocket, for George’s sake of course. Paul could see the man looking at him through the reflection of the bus’ window, before quickly looking down once he saw that Paul was looking at him. Paul decided to take a chance. He scooted over a bit, so he wouldn’t be breathing down the man’s neck. Paul sat on his knees, leaning forward and resting his torso on the back of the seat, seeing how the man gave him a curious side eye before he looked down again.

“Hello.” Paul greeted simply. The man turned slightly to him, still looking down at his hands.

“Hi.” he said. Paul sighed, hearing the obvious distance in the man’s voice. Something he was akin to with talking to George and Rich.

“I’m sorry about the bus. It’s dreadfully quiet today. Not to say it’s not quiet every other day, I mean, it’s an odd silence today.” Paul inwardly cringed as he heard himself beginning to ramble. Good going, McCartney, he told himself, you’re already talking his ear off.

“S’Ok, s’peaceful.” The man said quietly, glancing up at Paul. Paul nodded, thoughtfully. He leaned over the seat a bit more, trying to take in the features of the man’s face. He had a strong aquiline nose, big bushy eyebrows, and a squinted look across his eyes. The man finally looked up at Paul, resting his arm on his folded knee. “What is this bus anyway?” The man asked.

“It’s, uh, a place for people on rock bottom to think before they’re ready to go back out into the world.” Paul stated, recalling the answer he had been given all those years ago when he had first got on the bus. The man nodded, solemnly. 

“So I’ve hit rock bottom, huh? I would’ve thought I would hit it long ago.” The man stated offhandedly. Paul quirked an eyebrow, but he didn’t want to press. His friendship (so to speak) with George and Rich had taken months to form, and only then had they relayed their stories to him.

“I’m Paul, m’sorry I almost forgot to introduce myself. It’s odd to have a depressed stranger just talking to you, y’know?” Paul said, sticking his hand over the seat. The man took it, shaking gently, yet firmly.

“Takes one to know one, I suppose. M’John.” The man said, gently pulling his hand away. John smiled faintly at Paul. Paul glanced over at George, who was still staring out his window, absent-mindedly. He looked back at John, who was now sitting criss-cross in the seat, hands folded over his gut, looking up at the ceiling.

“How long do we sit on this bus for?” John asked, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket. Paul rested his arm on the back of the seat, pressing his cheek into his hand.

“It’s different for everyone. Depends on how long they need to think and cope.” Paul stated, glancing over at John, who was now counting the dots on the bus ceiling as he nodded. Paul continued. “Some people need just a few minutes. Some people need years.” Paul smirked as he knew that would grab John’s attention, the other turning to face him, a mix of concern and curiosity playing on his face.

“Years?!” John quietly exclaimed. Paul nodded, smirking at the wild look on John’s face as he prepared for the usual onslaught of questions. “Really?!”

“Really. I’ve been counting. George over there’s been on for about half a year. Rich back behind us a few rows has been on for a little over a year.” Paul relayed, smiling half-heartedly.

“How long have you been on for, Paul?” John pressed.

“Bout five years.” Paul stated like it was common knowledge.

“F-five years?! Oh my god!” John quietly lamented, pressing a hand to his temple. Paul knew this reaction well. Everyone was surprised when he told them how long he had been on this bus. It was quiet between them for a moment, Paul fearing he might have scared the other off, until John spoke again. 

“What’s everyone on for, then?” He asked, his voice shaking slightly.

“All sorts of stuff. You got general depression and feelings of hopelessness. Of course you’ve got grief, losing a loved one, that sort of thing. Then, there’s the more complicated ones. People who just got hit with misfortune over and over and over again.” Paul sighed, pushing back his own memories. John cocked his head to the side.

“Like what?” he asked, his curiosity plain on his face. A morbid curiosity, Paul thought. Though he had been just the same once.

“Well, George over there’s got stage four terminal throat cancer. Doctor told him he didn’t have much longer. And his girlfriend cheated on him with his best friend.” Paul whispered, hoping not to set George off if he overheard.

“Talk ‘bout rubbin’ salt on the wound.” John jested. Paul nodded sadly.

“And, uh, Rich back there, he was in a band. They were at a house party, and Rich went out for a smoke, and he heard the neighbors calling the cops, so he dipped. Two band guys got arrested, underage drinkin’ y’know. And the leader got hit with a huge fine. Rich was kicked out, he couldn’t get a job ‘cause no one would take him. His da’ passed away, and he was evicted.” John was quiet for a moment before speaking once more.

“Harsh.” he said grimly. Paul nodded, throwing a look back at the still dozing Rich. 

“Say, Paul?” John asked quietly. Paul hummed in response, picking at his nails.

“What’re you on for?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No romance yet. She a slow burn.


	3. New Friendly Face

“What‘re you on for?” Paul was taken aback by the question. Never had any of the other passengers so bluntly asked him that question. Sure, he had been asked that specific question many times before, but it had never been just out of the blue like that. He gulped before looking out the window, seeing that it was now nightfall. Boy, time really was different on this bus. Only took him five years to really notice.

“Erm, I don’t really want to talk about it.” Paul lied, biting his tongue when John just nodded with a disheartened look on his face. In all truthfulness, Paul didn’t really remember why he was on the bus to begin with. He had been on for over five years, and even though it had only felt like maybe only one year, his brain registered it as the full five, despite Paul not feeling any different than when he got on. He was still miserable. He was still depressed. He was still at rock bottom, but he just couldn’t remember why.

“I don’t remember alot, come to think of it.” Paul mentioned, hoping to brighten up John’s already dimmed mood. John looked back up at him, an eyebrow quirked. “Been on this bus for so long, don’t even remember where I came from.” Paul stated, chuckling. Unfortunately, John didn’t seem to find this as funny as Paul did. He stared at Paul, eyebrows high on his face, worry present in his eyes.

“Blimey, Paul, been on for so long ye can’t even ‘member where you got on?!” John sputtered out. Paul chuckled again, nodding. The chuckles weren’t genuine.

“I don’t remember me da’, or my brother, or anyone.” Paul stated, meeting John’s worry with a monotone sigh.

“Yer kiddin’?” John asked, horror dripping from his voice. Paul hummed a response, nodding his head slightly. John grasped the space between his eyes with his index finger and thumb. “Christ, five years…” John muttered. Paul suddenly felt a twang of guilt.

“I highly doubt you’ll be on for as long as me.” Paul tried, hoping to not plunge John any further into his sorrow. John simply nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. Paul tried again. “Well, what I mean is that I don’t ‘member their faces or voices. I still ‘member ‘em, just not totally. I remember when I was young, I used to play piano with my brother and me mum. She used to sing while we played. My da’ wasn’t much of a musical person. Tough love, it was.” Paul quipped, scratching his chin as he recalled the blurry faces of his parents and brother.

“Ye can play piano?” John asked, as if he had simply forgotten the heavy realisation that had just been dropped on him like an anvil. Paul smiled once more.

“Yeah, I play alot of things. Shame I don’t have my guitar, I’d play for you. Maybe everyone else would cheer up a bit, too.” Paul spoke, glancing over to George once again, who was still staring emptily out the window.

“That would be nice.” John all but whispered, also glancing at George. “I can play a bit, like to be in a band some day, haven’t gotten very far, yet.” John sighed, shrugging his shoulders. Paul frowned at this. However, the “yet” John included in his wording made him brighten up a bit. That meant John hadn’t completely lost hope in himself and his abilities. Paul strived to be like that someday, even if it was something small like that.

“I believe in you.” Paul said simply. John smiled a bit at this, nodding slightly.

After that, the bus grew eerily quiet once more. John leaned back into his seat and closed his eyes. Paul watched him doze for a bit before he too felt fatigue drag over him. Perhaps if George and Rich were in a better mood tomorrow, the four of them could talk and get to know each other better. Paul had certainly been lucky with John. Just by his look, Paul thought that he would’ve been pummeled just by saying ‘hello’. Never judge a book by it’s cover, Paul would later tell himself. Paul curled up in his own seat, clutching his jacket to his chest and squeezing his eyes shut. It wasn’t wise to sleep on the bus, as there was no telling how much time would pass if you were to fall into a coma-like slumber.

Even though all of his senses advised against it, Paul couldn’t help the way the bus didn’t have a normal vibration present throughout like a plain bus would. It felt as though he was gliding through the air, all the problems of the past seemingly forgotten. They weren’t, though. They never would be, as far as Paul was concerned.

As sleep began to take over, Paul smiled to himself, thinking of how concerned John had been when he had discovered Paul had wasted away, wallowing in his own thoughts, on this bus for half a decade. George and Rich had been the same, of course, but something about the alarmed gleam in John’s eyes set him apart from George and Rich. Not to mention the lack of prodding at his own quote on quote “tragic backstory”. He couldn’t count on both hands how many times George had asked him about it. Rich had also asked, but he hadn’t prodded nearly as much as George had. Perhaps for comfort, knowing his own struggles might not be as bad?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He he, sorry for the long hiatus, schools a bitch. Sorry for the unexpected cliff hanger as well. What, did you think I would give up Paul's backstory that easily?


	4. Discussion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters for the price of one long hiatus!

When Paul awoke, he was immediately greeted with a dead-eyed stare from George, who seemed to have snapped out of his depressive loop and was beckoning him closer. When Paul stood, he saw that John was still asleep in his seat, curled in on himself slightly. Paul draped his jacket over him like a blanket. It was rather cold on the bus, he just must have been used to it though. Paul tip-toed over to George’s line of seats and sat down on the one seat that didn’t croak in response to any weight being put on it.

“New guy?” George asked, nodding to where John was asleep. Paul hummed. 

“Yeah, John. Nice chap, he is.” Paul sighed out, not quite feeling rested, even though he had evidently been asleep for at least a day.

“Reckon he’s the same as the rest of us.” George whispered lowly. Paul hummed again.

“I’ve seen worse, he’s still got hope, just needs time to think. Who knows how long he’ll take.” Paul murmured. George shrugged.

“With any luck he’ll be off of the bus by next year.” George hummed, chuckling to himself. Paul frowned slightly. He hoped John would be one of the lucky ones and be able to get off of this wretched bus before that. You could never tell.

“I see you’re feeling better, a good train of thought happen across ‘ya?” Paul asked, seeing George’s shoulders tense slightly before he smiled.

“Oh, just another existential crisis. The whole ‘I’m gonna die when I get off of this bus I’m only prolonging the inevitable by staying here what am I doing.’ thing reared its ugly head, it did. Finally snapped outta it, an’ you and John was talkin’ ‘bout stuff.” He rambled for a moment.

Paul nodded, a small smile playing on his face.

“S’good. Hate to see ya like that.” Paul admitted. George just smiled slightly, turning his head as Rich took the seat next to him, the creak making Paul’s head snap upwards to make sure it hadn’t disturbed John, who only tugged the jacket tighter around himself.

“Good to see ya back in the land of the livin’, Georgie.” Rich chuckled, though the words dripped with a certain kind of sadness.” George chuckled, clasping Rich on the shoulder. 

“So, what’s his deal then?” Rich asked, gesturing towards John just as George had. Paul hummed. “New guy, I take it? Saw you two talkin’, he any hope, Paul?” Rich asked, lowering his voice. Paul nodded, making Rich roll his eyes slightly.

“You say that ‘bout everyone on this bus that talks to ya.” Rich chuckled, shaking his head slightly. Paul simply shrugged.

“I don’t have faith in myself, gotta put it to use elsewhere, I reckon.” Paul sighed out, causing George and Rich to frown slightly. Out of the corner of his eye, Paul saw John begin to stirr. Not wanting John to think he was talking behind his back, Paul swiftly slid over the aisle back to his spot. Just as he sat down, John lifted his head into view.

**Author's Note:**

> So a few things that are based on actual facts:  
> \- Imagine this is during the Hamburg era (not a fact, but still important for context)  
> \- George did actually pass away from throat cancer and his doctor was super unprofessional about it  
> \- The band talked about in Ringo's story is Rory Storm and the Hurricanes, not the alternate universe Beatles  
> \- This is based on an urban legend of the same name that I had to do a school project about  
> \- Not necessary to the plot, but the driver is probably Brian


End file.
